


Down in the Heart and in the Stars Above

by maps



Series: I think that possibly, maybe I'm falling for you. [2]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Reboot, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Blow Jobs, Body Worship, Car Sex, FUCK, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Fluffy Ending, Fourth of July, I HATE JIM KIRK GODDAMN IT, M/M, i fuckin, i'm in pain that is all, idk - Freeform, kind of?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-03
Updated: 2013-09-03
Packaged: 2017-12-25 03:44:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/948243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maps/pseuds/maps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are times and places with people that make you wish you could memorize them, paste every ounce of what makes them tick under your skin; remove each of their atoms and inspect them one by one; get to know the sound of their breath and beating heart; until all of who they are is imprinted onto you, into you, and you’re left blindly hoping they’re doing the same.</p><p>.:.</p><p>Spock seems to read my mind and pulls the thick fabric of my sweater from my skin. I sink into the feel of my bare chest against his. It feels so right like this, kissing and moving, my name in it’s rightful place on his tongue, and me, hard and aching in 21st century denim. It’s quiet between the fireworks so I can hear our wet lips and sliding hands.</p><p>Somehow I’ve ended up beneath Spock with my pants off. Both of us completely naked, our sweat sticks us to the leather seat. Every time we move it sounds painful, like we’re ripping off our skin, layers of unwanted parts of us. But it’s summertime on a younger Earth and maybe we can pretend that we are leaving bits of ourselves behind through the muggy heat, our sweat, and our foggy breath on the windows. Maybe I can believe I don’t belong anywhere else, and hope Spock does the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Down in the Heart and in the Stars Above

**Author's Note:**

> I will wait for it, I’m not too late for it  
> Until then, I’ll sing my song  
> To cheer the night along 
> 
> I could light the night up with my soul on fire  
> I could make the sun shine from pure desire  
> Let me feel the love come over me  
> Let me feel how strong it can be
> 
> (Title and the above stanzas are from the song Higher Love, by James Vincent McMorrow. I am not claiming to have written those stanzas or thought of the title on my own. I also don't own any Star Trek affiliated facts. I however, did write this short little Fourth of July story, and the plot-related ideas are all my own. Thanks!)

It’s kind of nice, being here with Spock, virtually alone. Sure there are hundreds of other people sitting on lawn chairs and curled up under blankets all around us, but they’re snuggled up in their own little worlds. Like us.

It’s a little windy and the wet grass is soaking through the blanket under us. I move closer to him. Spock’s kind of like my own personal heating pad that I use to my selfish advantage more often than I’m willing to admit. When your quarters are always cold, even with blankets, and especially after your sweat cools and breath calms, having a Vulcan sleep in your bed is the second best thing any human can ask for. The first being the sex that lead to the Vulcan falling asleep in your arms in the first place.

“Fascinating,” he says. The sky is a dark purple behind his head, his face lit up by bright explosions in the air.

“Yeah,” I say, looking at how the green and red lights dance in his eyes. “I know.”

We watch a while longer, and maybe my hand sneaks closer to his under the blanket. It’s like I’m back in middle school when there’s a willow tree of light against the stars and I can’t feel anything but my rapidly beating heart. How did a doofus like me fall in love with such a genius, awed by chemical reactions?

I curl my first two fingers around his, the Vulcan kiss. He gasps and I remember that’s how I fell in love with him. It’s when he does things like that. When he almost smiles, when he picks on Bones for being illogical, when he holds me against him under thin sheets. All the times we’ve touched, he’s still surprised and shocked over a simple kiss. It’s as if every touch for him is like starting over, a clean slate. I think I fall more in love with him each time he seems even more human than me.

“Do you think they set each one off individually?” I ask, knowing the answer, but it’s already been too long since I’ve heard his perfectly enunciated words.

He thinks for a moment, taking his eyes from the red pops of color above us to survey the ground beneath the fireworks. He uses his free hand to point.

“I can make the logical assumption, Captain, that even people from this century would understand the dangers involving lighting such…things. I can only guess, and rather hope, that they have set a fuse that lights each one at a set time. The colors and variations of the…explosives are probably not queued at random. Certain colors have been known to suit each other.”

Spock’s just not one to sit and watch the clouds move, or stare at rainbows, or sit under a darkened July sky and contemplate the beauty of fireworks beside his boyfriend with his hand kissing mine. Maybe he’s never called me his boyfriend per se, but I know he just refuses to say that kind of shit out loud. I know he notices things like pretty colors and starship captains. Maybe even love.

I squeeze his fingers. “That’s called beauty, Spock.”

.::.::.

Three years ago I would have given anything to see a firework show like this. They’re not the same anymore. Modern Fourth of July celebrations, they’re not loud like these ones were. To eliminate the dangers, companies started selling laser projected “fireworks.” Now, I have a spectacular show of colors and smells and sounds, just as I used to dream of when I was younger, yet I can’t take my eyes off the Vulcan to my left. I would say I’m ashamed at what a sap I’ve become, but there’s something oddly alluring about Spock in off lighting. From flickering, florescent lights of a damaged Enterprise to a crackling, dancing fire in the caves of a foreign planet, Spock just looks so amazing. I guess I should have known his face under fireworks wouldn’t be any different. His high cheekbones take the bright flashes of light so well. They accentuate the sad hollows of his cheeks, the shadow under his hard jaw. They dance over his skin faster than my eyes can. I’m soaking up his every detail, his every pore, and I can tell that this particular Spock is being seared into my memory, stored with all the other images of him I like to keep up my sleeve for a rainy day. Or for a day he stops letting me memorize him. 

He’s wearing a hat, like he does when mingling among more primitive cultures, to hide his ears. But I think they’re perfect. They shouldn’t be hidden. It’s too dark now anyway, no one will notice them. Even if their attention wasn’t with Spock’s up in the sky I doubt they’d notice. I’m still nervous though. I get like that around him, when it’s just us. Just like earlier when my fingers kissed his skin. I go slow. Move through the night lit up by artificial stars like something terrible will happen if he catches me. He’d stop me, probably. He gets so embarrassed when I examine his ears. They blush green under my eyes, my fingers. He doesn’t realize how beautiful they really are. Then again, I don’t understand why he enjoys listening to my heartbeat in the dead of night, or watching me fall asleep.

He isn’t startled this time when my fingers tug off his hat, he just sighs like he’s known this would happen all along. I think he’s secretly smug at the fact I can barely keep my hands off him. He licks his lips and almost smiles. Maybe he’s not so secretive about it, after all.

“Jim.” He looks back at me, but now it’s my turn to be distractedly amazed by something incredible. His ears are cold under my fingers. “I cannot recall what these are called,,,these sulfurous explosions.”

Sulfurous explosions. I laugh under my breath. Only Spock…

“Fireworks,” I say. I trace my thumb from the rounded curve of his ear lobe up to its graceful Vulcan point. I lean in and kiss the edge of his jaw. The lights flash red through my closed lids. I whisper against his soft skin, “They’re called fireworks.”

“Fascinating,” he says, not pulling away like he sometimes does, letting me taste his skin. I know I should probably wonder what the other members of the landing party are doing, how my crew is up there in orbit, but honestly right now it just can‘t seem to bother me. I have Spock beside me, his face against mine, a spectacular show of lights, and stars, millions of light years away, and the Earth under my tired bones. I smile and wish I could somehow be imprinted on his skin like a memory, so whenever he touches his cheek he’ll think of me and be reminded of the way I look tonight, under bursts of flaming color. He says it again, “Fireworks…”

Spock’s staring, awed at the sky again. The red, whites, and blues burst and shine on his perfectly sculpted bangs I used to make fun of him for. He’s sitting so formal, a habit he can’t seem to break, with his back straight and shoulders parallel to the ground. I can’t see how that, in any way, can turn me on so much, but somehow it’s doing a pretty thorough job. The way he holds his head up doesn’t really help either, with his slender neck that seems to go on for miles, and I want nothing more than to kiss him there, and everywhere else. So I do.

Again, he doesn’t pull away. It’s like I can sense when he wants me but is too shy or just incapable of showing it. I’m not afraid to take what I want and he just needs someone to tell him it’s okay to want things like this in the first place. I think we fit well together.

I suck maybe too loudly on the soft skin under his jaw, and maybe I don’t care as much as I should.

“Captain,” he warns, knowing not to turn his head or I’ll attack his lips next. I ignore him and move down his neck to his shoulder, pushing aside his loosely buttoned flannel. “Jim…”

I fucking love when he whispers my name. “Yeah?” I’m all breath and heartbeats and the taste salty skin.

“Jim, there are many bystanders, most of which are children.” Yet he makes no move to physically stop me. I would smirk, but my lips are a little preoccupied.

“So what? It’s dark; no one’s paying attention.” Maybe I shouldn’t let my hand wander down to Spock’s thigh, or squeeze just above his knee because I know he loves that, and I definitely should not let my fingers walk up his leg to tempt his semi-hard cock through his Levi’s with my palm.

“C’mon, Spock,” I say, moving my hand against him. “I know you want to.”

His eyes are closed for the first time tonight, and I’m getting harder knowing he wishes that he could merely will everyone else away so we could be alone. He bites his bottom lip and I almost moan.

He swallows. “In a more suitable location,.”

“Okay, good. Let's go.”

He turns to ask the burning question of Where? with his dark eyes. His head is silhouetted by a bright white firework, and I say the first thing that comes to mind.

“Anywhere.”

He grips my hand. “Okay.”

.::.::.

I gather up our blankets haphazardly with one hand, the other still within Spock’s grasp, while he slips on his hat again. It’s totally human, our touch, but my guess is it’s still totally turning him on with his sensitive Vulcan fingers. I squeeze them for good measure and his back tenses. Maybe the glint in my eye would make him tense up even more, if he wasn’t so busy leading me away from the throngs of lounging people to turn back and look at me.

He’s so human when he’s like this. He won’t ever admit it, either, but I know he is. He’s human in the way he holds my hand, and in the way he still finds time to glance up to the exploding sky. He’s human in the way he wants me right now, and in the way he’s not afraid to show me. It’s strange, even after we’ve been together for as long as we have, for him to ever show how bad he wants me, how much he enjoys spending the nights in my quarters, seems to be such a chore for him. As if loving me is a burden.

It’s a total human thing to do, kissing, touching, fucking. We humans have actually gotten so used to the idea of it that we don’t really notice it. But him? Spock notices everything, and the Vulcan half of him only knows what to do with himself every seven years. I know it’s hard for him to tell me what he’s thinking, tell me how he feels, because, for him, feeling isn’t supposed to be something he’s capable of. Sometimes though, touching is enough. Little Vulcan kisses show me he’s here, he’s with me. Maybe light brushes of fingertips can equate to all the whispered I love you’s I’ll never get to hear. Sometimes it’s enough.

.::.::.

When we reach the makeshift parking lot of flattened, dew soggy grass, Spock picks up his pace, pulling me along as we weave between the silent cars. Ours is somewhere towards the back, near the old trailer park. (I’d forgotten that those used to exist.) I don’t even realize we’ve reached it until Spock stops and throws me against the driver side’s door. His body presses against mine and the heat from his steaming Vulcan blood feels like it might burn me if he touches my skin. The sad part is I want him to do just that; burn me, mark me. Prove I’m more than just his captain. Prove I’m worth three little words. Imprint them on me.

He kisses me hard, smashing his lips on mine until it’s hard to breathe. With Spock, affection isn’t given lightly and spontaneous public make out sessions are basically nonexistent. I take what I can get, I guess, so limited oxygen intake is something I’m more than willing to accept for the taste of Spock’s mouth. And neck and ears and collar bones and sensitive fingers, two of which I suck into my mouth and moan around them, pleased with Spock’s reaction to the vibrations. His eyes roll back for second as he ruts his hips against my bent leg.

“Please get in the car, Jim, before we make the mistake of letting someone see us as we continue.”

I almost gawk at him. I can barely think straight, let alone form a complete sentence. I’m aching for him, though, so I just turn around instead, and fiddle with the old fashion keys.

Turning may have either been the best or worst decision I could have made, because Spock takes advantage of our position and thrusts against my ass, biting the base of my neck. I nearly drop the keys in a puddle when his hands rub down my thighs, pulling me back against him, tighter. He’s so strong…

"Spock," I stutter. “Spock, I can’t open the door if-” I hiss as he grabs the front of my jeans. “-if you’re holding me against it.”

“How unfortunate,” he says. Fucking Spock. I roll my eyes even though he can’t see. He moves back, but only enough for me to slip the key in the lock and turn it. There’s a faint clicking sound in all four doors, which I assume is the sound of them unlocking.

I open the door behind the drivers side. “After you, Mr. Spock.”

He steps in and sits in the middle seat. Following, I clamber in and shut the door behind me. It’s a bit cramped with two grown men breathing heavily in the backseat of a 2013 Ford Focus. It’ll have to do, I suppose.

To make more room, I figure the only logical course of action is to straddle Spock’s narrow body. I know I’m completely correct in my assumption when his hands immediately begin to explore me. They grip my sides and hold me against him. They move behind me and I feel his short fingernails scratch down my back. He moans with the contrast of sensation as his skin moves along the small ridges of my knitted sweater.

He’s so beautiful when his senses are overcome like this. He’s so beautiful with the sounds he makes and the way his stupid pointy eyebrows arch the slightest bit. He makes me feel beautiful, when he’s like this, because I can convince myself for a handful of minutes that I can make him human, that I can make him feel.

I’m light and airy inside, smiling down at him. Maybe I’m a bit devious too, because I think I might have a few ulterior motives behind each grind my hips make down on his lap. I want to make him feel good, I want to make him moan my name, and I want him to know that it’s me doing it. I want to be the only one to do anything like this to him. Sue me, I’m human and selfish. I want to make him tell me. I need to hear those three words on his tongue.

I cup his cheek with my hand. His eyes are closed, his hands are holding my hips down as he thrusts up against me. He’s everything, he’s gorgeous. I can’t help but trace the line of his pink lips with my thumb. He sucks the tip of it into his mouth, looking up at me. He hollows his cheeks and I half laugh, half moan his name.

“Spoooock…”

Spock’s evil, just evil; he knows how much that turns me on, cheeks hollowed, his eyes boring into mine. Suddenly there’s nothing I want more than to have his cock in my mouth. Maybe that’s what he was hoping for the whole time, the evil bastard. I wouldn’t put it past him.

I slide off his lap so he can move with his back against the door. I’m kneeling between his legs, one of his feet on the floor and the other beside my knees. I suck a mark on his neck, hoping it’ll be green for a week and everyone on the bridge will see. Sometimes I think I’m kind of a brat.

I move down to his pants, but I’m not used to Spock wearing jeans. I fiddle with the button and finally get the zipper down far enough to yank the denim down to his ankles, taking his boxers with them. I wonder if they’d be fine if I just left them there, like handcuffs, but I think better of it and pull them off completely. Sex is easier naked, right? Most things are better naked, to be honest. And Spock is so pretty naked.

My hands move in a slow, drawn out way up the bare skin of his thighs. He’s all lean muscle and pale skin I can’t get enough of. My hands continue past his wonderful cock I have to resist the urge to touch and stroke and taste, to up under the hem his shirt. He takes the hint, pulling it’s red and black checker pattern off over his head, his gray hat falling with it to the floor of the car.

His usually perfect bowl cut is ruffled. Black strands of hair stick out all over, and it’s wonderful. It’s always different than I remember, his hair. It has this texture I can never clearly describe. It’s just, it’s so Spock. It isn’t soft, it isn’t coarse; it’s somewhere in between. Just like him, only he’d never willingly admit he could ever be soft. He just never sees it. He can’t see it, not like I can now. Completely naked, Spock is nothing but soft lines and slight curves in the moonlight. The few fireworks that burst through the windows alight his skin until he’s glowing. I taste his stomach, his sides, his chest, his thighs. He’s all mine and I hope the taste of him will be imprinted on my tongue.

He’s so narrow and seems so small, but somehow his limbs take up so much space. One of his legs is bent and leans against my shoulder, like a reminder of how close he is to my face, how vulnerable he is. We’re no longer hot and rushed as we were pressed up against the door a few minutes ago. I’m not sure when that changed. Maybe it was when he pressed his head against the cool glass of the window and closed his eyes, giving me liberty to make his body my own, explore him down to every last freckle and memorize his skin to an astronomical degree. Maybe it was when I took him up on his offer and did just that.

I always forget what he tastes like too, until his taste is all that matters. I take him into my mouth. He’s salty, from the sweat I realize he still produces (I forget he does such human things as perspire); and there’s something else there, too. I can’t put a name one the taste, can’t describe it. Or, well maybe I can; maybe it’s the taste of his Vulcan half. Now that I think about it, all the kisses I plant on his skin leave my lips tingling, and tasting…different. Fresh like the smell of the pine trees that used to be so abundant, and, I find it odd, but I’m almost reminded of cinnamon.

I love moments like this, moments when I discover something new about a person who tries to keep everything about him under a cover of such a hard exterior. It makes me feel like sometimes I might actually know Spock. Nothing particular, really, just a general knowledge of what he’s like, who he is. I wonder if he ever feels that way about me, or if I’m just a huge ball of wild energy he is constantly weary of. I hope to god that’s not what I am to him. Then again, he is half Vulcan. How could I expect anything else from him?

But I do expect the impossible. I want to make him lose his cool, blow his cover. I just want him to take off the mask he hides behind and just feel with me. Feel how good my mouth is, feel how my tongue circles the tip of his penis and runs down its length, tracing a green vein. I want him to break through his stony surface, call out my name or shout out in pleasure-anything-because he never loses control of himself. He never lets himself, but he deserves to. Just once he deserves to relax, let his body do the thinking, and let me guide him there.

Maybe he is starting to let go, with his fast paced breaths and small, involuntary thrusts into my mouth, each one bringing him closer to the edge. Every time he hits the back of my throat, I hear small moans trying to get out from inside his chest. His body is slowly being taken over by the primal human urges that I know are there buried deep within Spock’s brain. But I know they’ll be hidden once more as soon as he comes. It’s nice, though, seeing him like this even if the time isn’t as long as I’d like.

I never used to like blowjobs that much, but I know Spock secretly can’t get enough of them. I love the way they make him whimper and run his hands through my hair, guiding me. When I look up to watch how his eyes go bright the way I know they do right before he comes, he bites his bottom lip. I can physically see he’s trying not to moan.

I pull off, smiling fondly up at him knowing that he’s vulnerable and needs me so bad right now. Like I said, I’m a little bit devious and very, very selfish.

"Spock," I say. He glances down at me while I let our heavy breathing take up all the space in the car. "It’s okay to like this. It’s okay to let yourself enjoy this. I know how good it feels, just let yourself relaaax." I draw out my last word while leaning down to suck a small kiss on the end of his penis.

He clenches his mouth closed, again forcing his moan back down. It’s like this every time; he doesn’t understand yet that I love every part of him, this side of him included.

"No, baby, moan for me. I want you to moan." I suck his tip into my mouth, flicking my tongue around it once. "Please," I beg, "I need you to moan for me. It’s okay."

I stare at him until he nods his agreement, his acceptance. His cheeks are flushed green and he’s still breathing fast, but his jaw is set. Compromises, compromises.

I grip his thighs, for leverage I guess, and take him into my mouth again. I want to feel his muscles clench in his strong legs when he finally lets go. I bob my head, flattening my tongue against the underside of his cock with every upward motion, making sure to circle the tip a few times before delving back in, the taste of his precome making me harder in my jeans. That, and the way he bucks his hips more wildly now, and-oh god he’s moaning. He’s moaning loud every time I gag with each of his thrusts. I fucking love it. I’m literally aching for him, but right now it’s not about me. I dig my nails into the skin of his thighs so I don’t touch myself, trying to keep up with the movement of his hips.

I love when he gets like this, demanding and hasty, because it means he’s being vulnerable. Spock wouldn’t come undone while fucking just anyone’s mouth-it’s mine. I’m totally his and it’s times like this I can vaguely believe he’s mine in return. Especially when he quietly gasps my name.

“Jim...”

Spock actually growls when my mouth leaves his dick with a small Pop! I know him well enough to know he was just about to come. I laugh open mouthed kisses up his stomach to his neck. My lips find his ears again and I gently pull his ear lobe with my teeth, breathing a small growl against his skin. I may or may not be mocking him a little bit. (I am.)

"Why," Spock says, pausing. "Are you. Laughing." He scratches down my sides, pulling me against him so he can thrust against my pants. His breathing hasn’t slowed a stitch and I’m absolutely loving this. However, I’m a bit confused why I’m still fully dressed.

I don't answer and Spock seems to read my mind and pulls the thick fabric of my sweater from my skin. I sink into the feel of my bare chest against his. It feels so right like this, kissing and moving, my name in it’s rightful place on his tongue, and me, hard and aching in 21st century denim. It’s quiet between the fireworks so I can hear our wet lips and sliding hands.

Somehow I’ve ended up beneath Spock with my pants off. Both of us completely naked, our sweat sticks us to the leather seat. Every time we move it sounds painful, like we’re ripping off our skin, layers of unwanted parts of us. But it’s summertime on a younger Earth and maybe we can pretend that we are leaving bits of ourselves behind through the muggy heat, our sweat, and our foggy breath on the windows. Maybe I can believe I don’t belong anywhere else, and hope Spock does the same.

.::.::.

I reach for my bag in the passenger seat, my hand digging blindly through its contents searching for the inconspicuous small tube both Spock and I desperately desire.

"Captain," Spock moans, sprawled out on the backseat. "Hurry."

I look back at him to see he’s slowly pumping his fist on his swollen cock. My breath hitches in my throat at the sight, because Spock never touches himself when we’re together. When I say never, I mean n e v e r. Because of the rarity of this situation…

"Fuck it." I pick up the bag and dump it on the seat in haste to fuck my lovely Vulcan boyfriend into the 23rd century, (which is actually more plausible that it would seem.).

I grab the lube from among the pile of my toiletries, mine and Spock’s communicators and phasers, and the other random shit I, for some reason, keep in my bag. I squeeze a decent amount onto my palm and coat my fingers, but before I press them into him I just stop and stare. I know I’m a sap, but this is just- Spock is so b e a u t i f u l. Legs spread wide, skin flushed, his dark eyes hidden by closed lids, and penis hard and wanting me, the feel of my skin. I used to think things like this were kind of gross. Sure, I liked to touch myself and sex was nice, but sometimes it made me feel dirty. Now, though, Spock naked and ready for me is just overwhelmingly comforting. Knowing that no matter how emotionless, uncaring, affection-less, and nonsexual he may seem on the outside, the fact that he’s here, like this, with me and not someone else, makes me feel the farthest from dirty. It’s just, it’s wonderful. Spock is nothing but awe and wonder to me. Maybe I haven’t loved him until now, until this point in time. Maybe right now is the moment I’ve actually fallen into him so far and hard, with no plan on ever digging my way out, and without any means to try even if I ever want to.

He whimpers as I return to my place between his legs because he knows I’m close. He can probably feel the heat of my hand even before I press one finger slowly into him. His eyes shoot open as he moans my name. It’s hard for me not to just start fucking him now. I’m sure Vulcans have a higher pain tolerance and it wouldn’t bother him too much, but honestly I just want this to feel as glorious to him as I can. Patience isn’t a trait I’m known for, but I can practice using it on occasion I suppose.

I add a second finger when I feel his muscles relax a bit, and a third when his hips start matching my movements. I’m about to add a fourth, because I want to be extra sure, but Spock pulls my fingers out with a strong hand on my wrist.

"Now," he says.

I’m still feeling pretty devious. “What’s the magic wooorrrd?”

When he answers with a glare, I tease him with the tip of my penis. This time he merely moans my name, trying to press against me. For Spock, that’s the closest thing to begging I think I’ll ever get. That’s good enough for me. 

I stroke myself with my lubed fingers twice, coating my skin until is glistens in the moonlight just like the gleam of sweat covering Spock’s body. With one foot on the floor and a knee on the leather seat under Spock’s thigh, I grab him by the hips and push into him. I moan, pulling out and pressing back in. He leans his head back against the window again, exposing his glorious neck. I can’t take it, can’t move slow anymore, so I curl my arm under his knee that’s bent around me and brace myself with my other hand on the seat beside him. And thrust into him faster now. Spock reciprocates, falling into my rhythm.

The car gently rocks with our quick movements, and I know that anyone would know what we were doing if they saw it from afar. Spock couldn’t be anymore preoccupied, though, so I don’t care at all. In fact, I’d rather him be louder. I want him to be heard over the booming fireworks. I move my hand from the seat to jerk him off in time with my thrusts.

His legs tense up around me. He’s sucking in hissing breaths at the intensity of the combined sensations. His hands are everywhere. His nails scratch the leather seat and grab my shoulders hard, almost to the point of pain. It makes me so hot, though, which strange because pain isn’t normally a thing I’m into. I guess I’m into it a lot because I can’t stop moaning and I think I might come soon. Spock’s abdomen clenches together, bringing his head off the window where it was resting, and he pulls himself up against me. The sudden movement pushes me deeper inside him and I lean back, sitting on my heel, maneuvering so Spock can ride me. His hands grip my sides, he’s scratching angry lines on my skin, and I’m a blubbering mess, perfectly okay with the thought of Spock leaving scars on me.

He ruts against me, kissing me deeply, the way he rarely ever does. Such a simple thing as a kiss and it sends me over the edge; I’m coming inside him. He-Spock, the Vulcan-actually throws his head back, g r o a n i n g with his arms around my neck, and is riding me as if he’ll die if he stops. Oh god I think I might. I thrust up against him, overstimulated but I just want to watch Spock longer, want him to come further undone around me, on top of me. I don’t have to wait long until he does. His thighs squeeze my sides as he finishes, his come spurting mostly onto my chest.

Without really thinking, I run my index finger through it and bring the whitish substance to my mouth, sucking it clean. I’m reminded of the taste of his skin, his sweat. It’s almost sweeter than any human jiz I’ve ever tasted, although those times hadn’t really been as intentional as right now. Wanting to taste him doesn’t seem that strange to me, either way I guess I opened up the whole “weird” aspect of my life when I started dating a guy that’s half a different species. I don’t know, I think I just like the thought of parts of him staying inside me for a few hours. As if that could name me as something that belongs to him. I smile at the thought.

Spock’s big hand cups my face, his thumb rubbing circles on my cheek as I had done to him earlier. I swear to fucking god if I had the ability to purr I would. I smile with my eyes closed and soak in the feeling of such a simple touch. With Spock though, simple touches like this aren’t easily given. Even after what we’d just shared. I just try to account for every ounce of affection he shows me to save it for a day when all he wants to do is argue about logic and the stupidity of the human race. 

I take his hand in mine, letting my fingers kiss his. I pull out of him and grab my sweater from the floor, ripping my tee shirt out from inside it to clean us up a little the best I can. Spock puts his boxers back on, and I my briefs. In between all these little actions are kisses, touches. Our fingers brushing skin, our lips whispering away all the worries of Starfleet, of the Enterprise, of Spock’s inability to tell me how he feels, that he loves me. I kiss him and he kisses back. He seems to enjoy it, being close with me. That’s all that I care about, really. He only pulls away to whisper my name, not even to breathe because that takes too much time away from his lips on my mouth. That’s something I’m perfectly fine with, as long as it’s my name on his thin, uneven breath, imprinted on his tongue.

I can’t decide if he’s more like the moon or the stars. He’s bright and soft like far away stars and scarred with craters like the moon, but these parts of him, they only rise with the curtain of night. Maybe he’s both. Maybe he’s the moon and the billions of stars, and I’m the overactive captain of the Enterprise, searching out and discovering each twinkle of starlight in Spock’s never ending universe.

But the sun always rises, and it’s too bright to see the secrets in the stars just behind his quiet eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> Beautiful elisey bee was my beta :)) (cheekyhobnobs) (spockerys.tumblr.com)


End file.
